Exactly What She Needed
by shelivesfree
Summary: Hermione has the flu, but is too stubborn too admit it. She's been forced to spend late hours at the office to finish her reports, when all she wants to do is go home and sleep. Luckily, she has Ron to take care of her.


**A/N: So, I've been cooped up at home for the last few days with a horrible case of the flu. Having the flu in Australia is actually the worst, because it's so sunny and warm outside [even though it's almost winter] and I want to appreciate it, but instead, I'm confined to my bed, with the house locked up and a box of tissues to keep me company. So, in my flu-induced boredom, I decided to write this little fic. It is inspired by my sickness. I hope you enjoy it :)**

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 **The Best Kind of Medicine**

It was just shy of eighty-thirty when Hermione finally left the office. She had only been meaning to stay back for an hour or so, just to get an upper hand on those reports that were due back tomorrow. But, in typical Hermione fashion, an hour had turned into three, and it wasn't until her assistant, Caroline, urged her to go home, that she finally did. With a sigh, he began to pack away her things into her briefcase. It was different now. Rose and Hugo were both at Hogwarts now, so she wasn't in a rush to get home and sort them out; making dinner, having baths, putting them to bed at a reasonable hour. She finally had time to catch up on her work. Lately, she had been spending every second she could at the office, making up for lost years of leaving early because Hugo had been sick, or because Ron had been away on an Auror mission.

All this extra work, however, had begun to take its toll, and although she would never admit it, Hermione was coming down with the flu. Late nights in the draughty office, poor nutrition and a lack of sleep had left Hermione feeling worse than she ever had. Her nose was a constant tap, her head pounded and her limbs felt achy. Her entire body was lethargic and slow, something she could not tolerate. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed with a cup of tea and a good book. Instead, she had put on her brave face, and set a good example for her employees, gritting her teeth and powering on with her work. She had been feeling fairly awful all week, and whenever Ron asked her if she was alright, she would dismiss him, saying she was just tired. Well, she _was_ tired. More tired than she'd felt in a long time.

As she wrapped her thick, heavy cloak around her shoulders and got ready to leave, she saw Caroline in the doorway. Her assistant was young woman of twenty-five with pretty, brown hair, glasses and a passion for wearing knee-high boots. She raised her eyebrows as she noticed the briefcase in Hermione's hand and crossed her arms.

"You're not seriously taking them home, are you?"

Hermione tightened the grip on her briefcase protectively. "I need to finish them, they're due tomorrow," she reasoned.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "You're as sick as a dog. Give them to me. I'll do them."

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted, brushing passed her assistant and violently breaking out into a fit of coughs. "It's just the change of seasons."

Without waiting for a reply, though she was certain she heard Caroline mutter 'stubborn bint' under her breath, Hermione drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and made her way to the elevator. Part of her knew she was being ridiculous. It wasn't as though Caroline, or any of her staff were incapable of writing those reports to be handed to the Minister. But she wanted to set an example. What kind of Head of Department would she be if she couldn't even finish her reports on time?

The rest of the Ministry was almost completely empty when she arrived at the ground floor. She saw Percy and Audrey, arm in arm, making their way across the floor towards the Floo fireplaces. They didn't seem to notice her, which she was thankful for. She was not in the mood for pleasantries with family members. With another fit of coughs, she Disapparated.

The streetlight flickered eerily as she walked home. Cold wind bit at her nose and cheeks, and she shoved her hands in the pockets of her cloak, wishing she had remembered to wear her gloves. The chilly November air was doing nothing for her coughs; every time she inhaled, she coughed and spluttered – watching her breath turn to frost as it left her mouth. She sighed. Why hadn't she prepared for the weather? Normally, Hermione spent her time ensuring Ron and her children to always be prepared and dress for the occasion, always packing extra jumpers, socks, underwear and hats into their bags whenever they went on a family outing. Usually, her kind assurances were greeting with grumbles and eye-rolls, and often muttered curses. Hermione was always the prepared one of the family. Yet, it had been the third time this week she had left the house without her gloves or beanie. And Ron had needed to remind her to take her cloak this morning. _I need a good sleep_ , she told herself reluctantly.

Home was only a short walk from the Ministry, something she was exceedingly grateful for. When her and Ron had first bought this place, it had been for his convenience as an Auror moreso than hers. She had been a little reluctant at living so close to the city; the rent was expensive and as a result, they were hard pressed for money. The royalties from her book sales had helped quite dramatically, but they were by no means well off. Now, however, she was more pleased than ever with her choice of home, as minutes later, she was hurrying up the steps and unlocking the front door.

Warmth hit her like a brick wall as soon as she took the first few steps into her apartment. Warmth and light. Some delicious odor was wafting down the hall from the kitchen; garlic, and tomato, and basil; and Hermione couldn't help but smile. As she put her briefcase down, a mop of shaggy, red hair appeared at the end of the hallway. It was followed by the grinning, freckled face and tall, lean body of her husband. She beamed at him. He was such a child. The way he carried himself and expressed his feelings so freely reminded him of when they were at school together. She could always tell when he was angry, or upset, or happy, just by the expression on his face. He had one of the most readable faces she had ever seen, and she loved it.

"Hello, love," he said cheerfully, approaching her in four long strides. He bent kissed her on the cheek. "You work late again?"

Hermione sniffed and nodded, hanging up her travelling cloak. The instant it left her body, she shivered. "It's those bloody reports," she growled in frustration.

Ron grinned at her. "You work too much," he told her. "If you were any other woman, I'd say you were having an affair."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You wouldn't have married me if I was any other woman."

He laughed and was about to pull her into his arms to snog her, when he noticed her appearance. Her gaunt, pale face, her red nose, her puffy eyes. The energy had drained from her face. She looked terrible.

"Are you feeling alright, love?" he asked her, blue eyes widening in concern.

Nodding abruptly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed the phlegm that was building up at the back of her throat. In all honesty, she was feeling anything _but_ alright, but she didn't want Ron to worry about her.

"I'm – "

"If you say you're fine again, I swear to Merlin…" Ron interrupted, glaring at her.

" _I'm fine,_ " she insisted, stubbornly.

Ron crossed his arms. "Don't give me that rubbish, I'm not stupid, Hermione. Look at you. You look bloody awful."

Glaring at him, Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Thanks, Ronald," she snapped. "That's a lovely thing to say to your wife when she gets home."

Ron ran a hand through his messy hair. "You know what I mean. You look sick. Have you been sleeping?"

Grumbling, Hermione pushed passed him, not in the mood to argue with him tonight. "It's hard to sleep when there's an elephant snoring next to you!" she retorted angrily.

The sound of bare feet against tiles informed her that Ron was following her. She wished he wouldn't. She just wanted to lie down, uninterrupted.

"Stop arguing with me and answer the damn question, Hermione!"

With a cry of irritation, she stormed passed the kitchen and began up the stairs. "Stop pestering me, for Merlin's sake. I'm tired, and I feel like someone is banging my head together with a hammer, and I'm a snot factory!"

She turned and continued, before Ron grabbed her wrist and forced her to stop. She looked back at him, his blue eyes sparkling, his eyebrows furrowed. Even though she was two steps above him, they were exactly at eye level; making Hermione realised just how tall her husband was.

"Then let me take care of you," he said, his voice suddenly softer and rougher. Hermione couldn't help but melt into the sound of it; like warm chocolate.

Ron took two more steps and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tight against his chest and kissed her hair. The back of his hand came to rest on her forehead and he jolted at the way her clammy skin steamed beneath his. Without warning, he took her behind her knees and carried her up the stairs, like he had on their wedding night. Hermione giggled and clasped her hands behind his neck as he lead her into the bedroom. He set her on her feet next to the bed and cupped her cheek.

"I'll run a bath for you. You just get undressed. I'll bring up a cup of tea too, and some dinner, if you're hungry. And I think there's some PepperUp Potion in the medicine cabinet from when Rose was sick that time."

He turned to head into their ensuite bathroom when Hermione entwined her fingers in his. "Thank you, Ron," she whispered sweetly.

He grinned at her and kissed her full on the mouth. She gasped and pulled away. "Ron, I'm sick!" she told him.

He shrugged his shoulders playfully. "Germs be damned, I want to kiss my wife." When he went in for a second kiss, this time, she didn't pull away. They stayed that way for a few minutes, completely oblivious to everything but the feel of their lips against each other's.

"Right," Ron murmured, his warm breath ghosting over her mouth. "You'll catch your death if we stand here snogging."

With that, he went into the bathroom. Hermione smiled at his retreating figure, running her thumb against her bottom lip. He was really was the sweetest thing. Her fingers fumbled clumsily to undo the buttons of her blouse, as she was constantly racked with shivers every few seconds. When she was finally naked, she hurried into the bathroom, her skin breaking out into goosebumps, to find Ron kneeling next to the bath. He had lit candles around the perimeter, and there were thick, fluffy bubbles floating like debris atop the water. Steam rose from the surface and Hermione sighed dreamily at the thought of sinking her frozen body into the hot water.

Ron looked up and smiled at her, his mouth slightly lopsided as it always was whenever he saw her naked. She thrilled at the way his eyes sparkled in arousal. Hermione was not as young as she used to be. She was thirty-nine, and the birth of her two children had made the skin around her stomach loose and flabby. Her breasts were sagging and her legs were not as toned as they used to be. Yet, Ron hardly seemed to notice.

"Your bath awaits you, my lady," he announced regally, standing up and bowing. Hermione snorted with laughter, and gently slipped one foot below the surface of the water. It was steaming, and her body was so cold that she felt as though she was on fire. Ron seized her under her arms and helped her in. She stood there for a moment, letting her skin acclimatise to the heat, before sinking down under the bubbles bobbed around her breasts. Sighing in pleasure, she let her head rest back on the edge and closed her eyes.

"You just relax," Ron told her. "Take your time."

Hermione wasn't sure how long she had been in the bath, but it felt like hours. Eventually, the water began to grow cold, so she stood up, and began to dry herself. Ron was awaiting her in their bedroom, when she was done. Her fluffy, blue pyjamas and stripy bed socks were laid out on the bed, and there was a cup of tea on the table, next to her book. Smiling gratefully at him, she quickly dressed herself, and slipped under the covers. Ron crawled up beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, kissing her head softly.

"You just rest, Mrs Weasley," he told her, his hand rubbing up and down her arm in a soothing manner. Hermione nodded and hummed a response, cupping her hands around her tea and taking small sips. It was herbal, and the hot liquid warmed her body from the inside out.

"My reports…" she protested weakly. She was in no state to even start working, and her body refused to move from the comfort of her bed, but she felt the need to ask for them.

"I'll burn them if you even think about working," Ron told her firmly. "The most important thing right now is for you to get better."

Hermione put her tea down and curled into his side. She had always told herself that she was intelligent, and confident, and didn't need anyone. But she was wrong. She needed Ron. She needed his constant, steady presence, his steadfast, unconditional love. She needed him to take care of her, because Merlin knew she was too busy to take care of herself. Her eyes fluttered closed and the ghost of a smile pulled at her lips. She was in bed, with her husband, and all those worries about work were push aside. This was exactly what she needed. She was home.

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 **A/N: Reviews are welcome, as always :) xx**


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